Last Minute Love
by xSpindle
Summary: [ also on HPFF ]It's a OWKB fic that I created all by myself. Yey. It's my first one to be posted here, and the first HP fanfic I've actually finished as I am a lazy arse. The genres are not quite obvious just yet, though, sorry, nor are the ratings.


Oliver sat down on one of the benches, looking at the different parts of the Locker Room he'd always taken for granted. Somehow, he supposed, he had never really thought his last month at Hogwarts would come. There, by that locker, Fred and George had first experimented with some of their prototypes for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and, there by the entrance, he himself and the rest of the team had given Harry Potter his advice about Quidditch. He sighed, placing his hands behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. Even there were memories of Fred and George's pranks. Everything seemed to have Fred and George as part of it, but they had all been there- Oliver Wood, Fred and George Weasley, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet. And then Harry Potter. They had had some of the best times in the locker room where he rested, now, on one of the benches where he had accidentally walked in on Fred and Angelina's snog session. He grinned to himself; that had been rather awkward.

Still, Oliver shook his head. So many great times, and so many things, memories, loves, friends- everything almost- that he'd have to leave behind. It would be great; he would be playing for a Quidditch Team. Yeah… With new team members, with people older than him. He sighed; how he wished he could have one last year at Hogwarts. Just one more. Somehow, he thought, it would make all the difference. He stood up, picking up his broom and started out of the locker room. His steps were quiet, almost weightless- the steps of a dying man. Oliver could feel tears forming in his eyes, and, immediately, he brushed them away, shivering. He couldn't cry; he wouldn't. It wasn't like him to cry, and what if it worried his teams. His team. Yes. The Gryffindor Team was still his, still his for one more month. Still his to practice with, and still his to advice for next year. There would be a practice tomorrow. Yes.

Oliver sat back down and pulled some papers out of the knap sack, plus a quill. Time to devise a new strategy; a new strategy he'd never use. They'd never use. No one would ever use. Still, perhaps the greatest part of his team was that they humored him; they let him encourage them even when they were doing fine. That was friendship, but that friendship would have to be torn into shreds when he left, for, as much as he wanted to stay in contact with them, Oliver wasn't sure he could. That didn't mean he wouldn't try. Oliver cursed his friends' youth, how could they make him go while the rest of his team stayed? Oliver crushed the quill he held, ruining the feathers. How could he have let himself take his team, and take playing Quidditch at Hogwarts for granted? Oliver couldn't answer the question, perhaps it was simply human nature. Everyone did at least once in their life, why should Oliver be excluded? He wished he was.

Oliver had never taken winning for granted, but, certainly, he'd taken playing the game for granted. If you lost at Hogwarts, it was alright, you're teammates never stayed mad at you- if they ever were mad at you, and they always helped you back on your feet. Somehow, Oliver doubted it was like that where he was going. Where he was going, winning was the objective, not fun. If you made a mistake, you're teammates hated you until you made up for it. Oliver was slowly becoming more and more discouraged, wondering why he had taken the job. Why hadn't he just settled down, chose one of his adoring fan girls to marry, and work at the Ministry? Well, that wasn't him, and he hated the Ministry. Challenge, excitement, flying. That was for Oliver Wood, not working in some dull office, coming home to some obsessive wife and children, and eating some nasty food his adoring wife made for him that would probably be cold when he finally found time to sit down. No. Oliver Wood could never live like that. And yet…

Realizing his quill was crushed in his fist, Oliver tossed it aside, taking out a new one. He dipped it in ink and began dotting xs and lines on a blank sheet of parchment, occasionally adding notes and names. This was the life he had chosen, and the life he had chosen would not be easy, but, if he was lucky, it would be worth it. Still, Oliver did want to marry, marry a beautiful, caring girl who'd take care of the Quidditch injuries he was certain he'd end up with, and have a kid or two, maybe even twins. How blissful would that be? It would if he could take care of them all, but he wouldn't, and, in the confines of his mind, he knew it was true. He hated himself for it that he may never end up with the home life he longed for because he took the occupation he needed. Sacrifices always had to be made, but Oliver felt as if it was too much. Even at Hogwarts, he hadn't had a chance with many girls, and that was because they were too busy stalking him to realize that when he might have liked one of them, they weren't supposed to gossip about it. When they did, Oliver broke more hearts and friendships than he could stand.

Why couldn't he just be normal? Normal. How? In what way? Normal like a muggle or normal like an average wizard? _Neither_ he told himself, but then what did he mean? Perhaps in appearance, or in charm. Ha. Charm. Oliver didn't have charm, he had luck, and too much of it for his liking. For he, unlike some of the other popular young men his age, wanted a girl who loved him for him, and not for his popularity, position, or appearance. Those girls showed him off as if he was some sort of trophy- the very last thing he was! Oliver noticed he'd crushed yet another quill, and, shaking his head, Oliver stood up, gathering the parchment. Perhaps he'd finish it later, but, as he looked it over, all he found of it was garbage. Complete and utter garbage, not even good enough for those damned Slytherins to use. Still, Oliver shoved it into his knap sack and sighed; he was losing it.

He turned around to look at the locker room once more before he started back to the castle. His steps were heavy, dragged, as if his feet had their own minds and wanted to stay where they were. It hurt so much. Seven years in the asylum called Hogwarts. It sure felt like an asylum, but he had learned to love it, love it since the first day he'd arrived off of the brick red train. Even the train, even Platform 9 ¾ had captured his heart in a way nothing else could. They were memories. Perhaps out of habit, or perhaps to distract himself, Oliver began kicking a stone as he walked, his entire mind focused on the small rock. The sun was beginning to set behind him, but he didn't care; it was the last month of his last year. What were they going to do? Expel him. Oliver knew they wouldn't.

As he reached the stone steps, Oliver kicked the stone aside and started up one of the many flights of stairs it would take to reach the Common Room, to reach his Dormitory. His. His for one more month, all of it, everything at Hogwarts was part of every student until they graduated. Then their part was handed to some first year to love and nurture until they, too, were in their final year, and then they'd pass it on to another first year. It was the way of Hogwarts' circle, a cruel way, but a way no matter. Nearly Headless Nick greeted him, and Oliver responded with a limp wave. At first, he'd thought Nick would try and make some sort of conversation, but Nick seemed to catch Oliver's negative vibes and continued. Oliver wasn't sure if he was gladdened or saddened by this; maybe it was both. He didn't know, and, for a while, until Oliver looked back at his days at Hogwarts, would he know. Certainly, even that passing between himself and Nick would be filed into is memory for him to contemplate when he was old enough to allow his mind to wander freely into the pass. There'd be laughs, and there'd be angst. Mostly laughs, no doubt, but he could feel angst and depression would seep into his memories of Oliver Wood's last few months at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He ran a hand through his sandy colored hair; his face cast to the ground. No one would be out this late so why should he bother to look up? Oliver didn't bother with anything anymore, not enough. Only his grades and only his practices with his team. Which, of course, were held in a large clearing in the Forbidden Forest without Harry Potter. Those were, perhaps, the best days of his life. They didn't practice much there, no, they had fun and Oliver enjoyed their company. They'd all be together again someday, no doubt, as best friends should be, but now were some of the few times he'd even talk to them for, at least, a decade. If he was lucky. Instinct told him to skip the trap stair, and even that made his mind trail off into dozens and dozens of memories, all connected to that single trap stair. Oliver was already missing Hogwarts so much that his dreams were based on memories from First all the way to Seventh year; almost all of them had his teammates, his team in them from their first experience with fire whiskey- courtesy of Fred and George Weasley- to their last game last year. None of them were ever nightmares, even the memories of his detentions. Everything was to laugh at now, to him, and that made it even harder for Oliver to leave.

His last Hogsmeade trip would be tomorrow. Hogsmeade. That had been, perhaps, his haven for years when his workload piled too high for him to reach the top. Instinctively, his hands went up, and he felt someone's weight fall into his arms. At least his senses weren't failing him. Still, Oliver didn't bother to look at who it was, well, not until someone gasped. "Oliver?" Katie? Katie Bell? Oliver hadn't seen her since their last practice almost a month ago, not even in the common room. That would have to change, the team- except Harry Potter- would have to meet at midnights for his last month at Hogwarts. Oliver wanted to spend as much time with them as he could before he left.

"Katie?" He asked, aghast, Katie Bell was the last person he'd expected to see. Still, he couldn't be upset. "What are you doing out this late?"

"Curfew isn't for another half hour, _Dad_, and I'm just returning this book to the Library," Katie replied, laughing. Oliver smiled, his friends sure knew how to cheer him up.

"Okay, _Daughter_, have you finished your homework yet?" Oliver asked, laughing as he said it. Katie shook her head in mock defiance, laughing with him.

"No, and I have no intention to. Potions sucks."

"Does someone need to be tutored?"

"I do!" Katie exclaimed, seriously. "Could you help me, Ollie, please?" Ollie? "I'm going to fail if I don't get someone's help, and, come on, you're smart and stuff," She flashed him a smile, and, realizing he was still holding her up, Katie straightened, brushing her skirt down.

Oliver rolled his eyes, "Okay, but, first, return that book to the library. I'll meet you in the common room in a half hour."

"Okay, great, Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia are already up there. Probably _snogging_," Katie said, laughing and continuing down the stairs. Oliver's mood brightened considerably, even if he would walk in on his friends snogging, again. It always happened, but that might simply be because they were all losers. Losers in love, but losers nonetheless.

"Watch out for that-" Oliver began, but it was too late, Katie had stepped into the trap step. He hurried down, wrapped his arms around her waist lifted her up. Of course, that led to a rather awkward situation, and Oliver put her down almost immediately on a step lower. Both were blushing furiously, and Oliver turned away. "So, umm, see you in a bit," He said shakily, continuing back up the stairs so fast that he almost didn't hear Katie's weak 'yeah'.


End file.
